silk flowers ii

From silk to roses
with the most genuine intent,
I watched her petals blossom
and held on
to each
rogue
impostor weed.

The worm worked his way
from her stem
to her
leaves
stopping at every thorn along the way;
to whisper
"this stills me not"
and continue with sweet
hunger.

The worm finds his spot
among her
perfectly imperfect
smile; he takes up
residence.

Does the rose know
when she grows
not in soil
or on concrete
but in the heart
of the worm?